Hellish Mission, Heavenly Reward
by Emily-Mel
Summary: A long, slightly blasphemous response to a ML line challenge... the boys are sent on some difficult missions.


Lyssira issued the following line challenge on several ML's last week:  
  
-You get 1 point for each quote you use.  
  
-An additional point if Duo's not the one saying it.  
  
-An additional point if Trowa IS saying it.  
  
-An additional point if a non-G-boy says it.  
  
-10 points if you make me fall out of my chair laughing.  
  
There are 100 possible points.  
  
Quotes:  
  
1. "Back awaaaaay from the cookie!"  
  
2. "You little ovary, you."  
  
3. "Wufei's helping the grapes have sex!" (O.o)  
  
4. "Castration is fun."  
  
5. "They're out in the rain? Their balls are gonna shrink to the size of  
  
raisins!"  
  
6. "Enough with the oregano, you're obsessed with the oregano."  
  
7. "You talk like they grow back."  
  
8. "You mean they don't?"  
  
9. "Where do you think I get my e-mail from? GOD?"  
  
10. "There will be other sausages."  
  
11. And then there was random lesbian sex.  
  
12. "____ is the devil, he/she makes me spontaneously combust with his/her  
  
eyes."  
  
13. "If _____ wins, you have to give him/her sex."  
  
"Ewwwwww!"  
  
14. "Heero Yuy has not realized the full capabilities of his backseat yet."  
  
Heero walks in late.  
  
"Or maybe he has."  
  
15. "What is it about this goddamn flower that makes everyone so bloody  
  
happy? Is it the crack flower?!!?"  
  
16. "I have 24 hours to live and get laid. Come here ____"  
  
17. "If at first you don't succeed, give up."  
  
18. "_____ has a real imaginary sword. ____ just has air."  
  
19. "_____you're only good for your height and carrying things."  
  
20. "Moral: It just goes to show you that every ape has his turd bucket."  
  
21. "Coffee? Tea? Cheese?"  
  
22. "I'm playing with my stick!"  
  
23. "My WALKING STICK YOU PERVS!"  
  
24. "Look at the pretty light!"  
  
25. *crunch* "OW!!!!"  
  
26. "I am not a fruitcake, I am an apple pie, damn you!"  
  
27. "The 11th Commandment doth decree 'Thou shall not flicketh offth thy  
  
Lord in vain.'"  
  
28. "You're scaring the straights." (Bill Murray)  
  
29. "It only takes one hand."  
  
30. "She's God with tits."  
  
  
  
**********  
  
**********  
  
Title: Hellish Mission, Heavenly Reward  
  
Author: M of M&Em-chan  
  
Category: Challenge Fic/Humor (of a very low level .)  
  
Labels/Warnings: This satisfies a 30-quote line challenge--it's pointless, okay? If you start to feel ill, stop reading! OOC in huge portions, blasphemous, weird humour, dialogue heavy (read it like a radio drama if it makes you feel better), //...// = thoughts  
  
Pairings: nothing really serious-1+2, 3+4, 5+breakfast?, Noin strong enough to ignore 6 and be her own woman, 6+himself in a narcissistic way only, yuri hints (b/c of the one quote)-- no R & D (my frail nerves can't handle either of them)  
  
Archive: one day, my site will be up… until then, take it with my blessings  
  
Feedback: unwarranted  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own a bloody thing & if you think I've got a claim on "California Dreaming" by The Mamas & The Papas, you need professional psychological assistance. Just look at the mangled lyrics for your evidence, little one.  
  
**********  
  
**********  
  
Off a forgotten side-alley in a bustling metropolis, against all canonical evidence and common sense, there is a cheery little tenement house with a sunny ground-floor breakfast nook currently inhabited by four fine examples of budding manhood. They greet the new dawn with robust appetites and sleep-tousled heads, ready for yet another glorious day.  
  
"Did you have a good night, my bacon rasher of loveliness?" the petite blond queries his tablemate, beaming as he doles equal portions of bananas and strawberries onto his cereal.  
  
"Absolutely wonderful, little favre bean of my heart."  
  
Nibbling on a buttered slice of toast, he rejoins, "Most warming to hear, delightfully scintillating and sultry sultana of somnambulistic stunts."  
  
"No, I am most honoured to be favoured with your most kind attentions, you little ovary, you." The green-eyed boy dips a finger into the whipped cream and shaved chocolate floating on his cocoa and holds it out to be laved.  
  
A gruff snort from the farthest counter shatters the deepening gazes of the mooning teenagers. "Ovum, moron."  
  
"What?"  
  
**crunch**  
  
"Ow!"  
  
"I'm so sorry, Trowa… let me kiss it and make it better, please."  
  
With a sigh born of long suffering, a sleepy Wufei turns to glare at his seated friends. "I believe Trowa means 'ovum' or egg and not 'ovary,' a part of the female reproductive system." Smug over his early-morning intellectual superiority, he takes a celebratory sip of oolong tea.  
  
"Could you three freaks shut up about all this sugary sweet anatomical/gastronmical garbage? It's enough to put a guy off his food," the final member of the repast's conclave mumbles through a mouthful of pancake-wrapped sausages. Flicking renegade hairs out of a puddle of syrup, he snatches the last link from the centre platter. A quick roll through the sticky syrup and it follows its brothers down the chasm.  
  
"NO!!!"  
  
A most undignified wail erupts from the Chinese youth as he launches himself at the table. Gripping Duo's throat with whitening fingers, he screams in rage. "You did that on __purpose__!" Each word is punctuated by a fierce shake. "It was mine," he howls.  
  
Eyes bugging, the longhaired boy tries to choke out a word in his defence. A spray of partially chewed food only serves to enrage the other teen. "I __always__ have a sausage after my tea! It is the one simple, selfish joy I am allowed in this madhouse and you have cruelly robbed me of it---I will have satisfaction!"  
  
"There will be other sausages. It'll just take a few minutes, but we'll get you one," Trowa attempts to placate him with soothing tones to no avail. Meanwhile, Quatre has dashed to the refrigerator and is rummaging through the meat tray. His disappointed "oh my" is more than sufficient to enflame the murderous thoughts Wufei had been toying with.  
  
A fierce yet brief struggle ending in panting, dishevelled boys sitting amid smashed crockery and spilled marmalade ensues.  
  
Trowa, pinning the fuming warrior to the floor, is the first to see an all too common figure enter the battle zone: Heero Yuy bearing a computer printout.  
  
He surveys the damage with obvious distaste, his eyebrow twitching in suppressed rage. "Don't you four realize how out of character and ruinous this behaviour is? If even the smallest rumour of these shenanigans reached Preventer HQ, we'd all be out of jobs. We've got to maintain the image of calculative secret assassins and ruthlessly efficient, government- endorsed bastards who silence situations before they become problems." Heero glares at Duo, who is trying to shake salt, pepper and sugar from his hair with little success.  
  
He then takes a long look at the annual calendar issued to all Preventer employees---the printers even managed to make gentle Quatre appear as a psychologically unstable axe-murdering rapist in the two-page summertime spread.  
  
"If you'd rather be known as unreliable fumblers---fine. Stay here, fight amongst yourselves, and I'll complete the group mission by myself."  
  
The shocked quiet which always follows the rare Yuy outburst imploded into overlapping exclamations.  
  
"An assignment already? Are you sure it's for all of us---I was debriefed the other day and Une didn't hint at something big coming up."  
  
"I am __not__ illegitimate, thank you very much 'Mr. I-don't-even- know-my-real-name-much-less-who-my-parents-were.' Sorry, Trowa."  
  
"… **disheartened look** That's **sniffle** all right."  
  
"So I'm a 'fumbler' now? Well, don't you come crying to me when you've been blown up into a million pieces because you didn't have decent back-up." The others simply look on at Duo as he continues grumbling to himself. "Being so damned uptight about these stupid missions---you'd be a hell of a lot nicer to be around if you weren't so sexually frustrated." Winding down, he notices their bewildered and frightened expressions. He plasters on a grin. "Yeah… so we're good to go, right? 'Ninmu ryoukai' and all that jazz?"  
  
Once decoded, the mission specifics are short and to the point: a single set of geographic coordinates followed by the order "Obtain C Chips."  
  
  
  
"Wing, this is DH. I am in position. Over." Crouching between two crates in a dusky gloom, Duo waits for the 'all clear' signal. He presses the defective earpiece closer as a tinny version of Heero's voice comes across. //One day I'm going to have to spend a few bucks and get a decent set-up… G.I. crap.//  
  
"DH, maintain. Pierrot en route. Dauphin ready. Dragon sulking. Over."  
  
"Understood. Over and out." He rocks back onto his heels in search of a comfortable posture for a long wait. //Don't see why Wufei is in such a snit---he's got nothing to do but be a secondary diversion in case this fails.// He pulls a detonation switch from a coat pocket and flips it from "Deactivated" to "Armed" and back again several times.  
  
//With the lack of intelligence for this gig, I wouldn't be surprised if we totally screwed up. All Trowa could find about the site is it's a factory---making what? Novelty condoms for all I know... that could explain some of these smells and the secrecy. I wouldn't want my mom to know I make piña colada pickle pouches.//  
  
He pauses in his nervous switch flipping to breathe in the aroma of the dimmed processing facility. Among the filled packing crates, he has a limited view of the great assembly line tread ways, motionless hoppers, bubbling vats and huge paddle wheels he knows are there, having just secured two packs full of explosives to various points in the room.  
  
He pokes at his comm piece. "Wing, DH here. The champagne's chilled, so when are the guests showing up? Over."  
  
A weaker, more static-filled response comes across immediately. "DH... do... go... execute plan... are in... repeat: Peirr... [a long section of interference crackles] seal… chips... over."  
  
"Say again, Wing. Didn't catch all that."  
  
"... do.... proceed with plans... vous...." An electronic squawk sounds before all communication ends.  
  
//This is great. Another case of "Save us, Duo, for we couldn't organize a charity car-wash." One day I'm not going to pull their fat out of the fire----just you wait and see.//  
  
Rising to a sprinter's start, he checks the closest short safe route from the building one last time before thumbing the switch to "live." Duo rushes for the exit, setting off explosions through out the modified warehouse.  
  
//Quarter-mile to the bike. Another thirty down to the staging area. Quick change of clothes and it's part time!//  
  
High above, unnoticed in his mad scramble, one critical holding bracket begins to weaken under years of stress, minimal upkeep and a judicious sprinkling of "Machina's Patented Plot Mover Powder." With a pitiful metallic groan, it snaps, causing the mixing vat it was stabilizing to tip slightly.  
  
A white blob plops onto the floor in front of Duo. He skids through it and fetches up painfully against another bit of machinery.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Chrysanthemums of destruction blossom through the building. The damaged vat teeters over, unleashing a torrent of foam. Duo stands frozen in wonder as over one ton of molten marshmallow washes across the floor.  
  
//Oh, crap.//  
  
In the burning mess glistens a smooth lake of whiteness. The reflection of orange flames dances and flickers, giving depth and shadow to the figure standing unmoving like a defiant sculpture in the middle of a cream field.  
  
  
  
Quatre never did like these nighttime strikes. Beyond being an easily spotted target with his fair hair and skin, he knew how much more wary people were in this traditional time of illicit activities, especially if they were the ones doing that illegal business. Though Heero had insisted the factory would be relatively unmanned; therefore reducing casualties all round, the heir couldn't help feel everything was wrong.  
  
//We're going in blind with blueprints at least a year old. Normally Une has some surveillance data and a sketchy plan. I just hope the others are having an easier time with their parts.//  
  
He had padded down countless hallways in search of anything looking remotely like a Research and Development lab. "That or a central command area are the two most likely places for the microchips," Heero had reasoned. At yet another dead-end, Quatre is seriously beginning to see the merit of Abdul's philosophy: "If at first you don't succeed, give up."  
  
//Well, maybe one more.// Tiredly, he backtracks and scampers down another unmarked corridor.  
  
"Oh, what luck!" he exclaims, noticing a set of double doors with "Development Laboratory---Authorized Personnel Only" plaques. Quatre enters and shines his torch at the banks of empty ovens scowling back in the darkness.  
  
//This can't be it... but there are a thousand cupboards and holes in this room alone where a microchip would be secreted.// He activates his radio, peering into the first overhead compartment.  
  
"Wing, come in. This is Dauphin."  
  
"Wing here. Report."  
  
Pulling aside canisters of various powders, he replies. "Lab reached---no resistance encountered, but objective not fulfilled. Probable location is secondary target. Give Pierrot warning he's on hottest trail. Advisement? Over."  
  
"Continue search. Will notify of changes. Over and out."  
  
  
  
"Wing to Pierrot. Change in plans---Dauphin at a red light; we've come to town on baking day."  
  
Tumbling into a top-floor antechamber, Trowa dials up the sensitivity on his infra goggles and checks for signs of movement in the conference room beyond. //Hmm.... the lights are on.// "Just what are you talking about, Heero?" he peevishly whispers.  
  
"Quatre can't find the chips and it looks like good old 'Perfect Yuy' screwed up something because this is most definitely a civilian operation," Wufei breaks in on the private channel.  
  
"That's what I said," Heero rebuts.  
  
Trowa ignores the bickering when he catches sight of a warm, body- sized shape about ten meters away. "Shove it, you two," he hisses. "I'm reading activity nearby. I'm going in." He glides to the doorway. //Only one mobile object confirmed.// He checks his pistol and kicks in the door.  
  
A middle-aged man in coveralls, apparently on his coffee break, is surprised into dropping his mug.  
  
"Hands up, back away from the cookie, and I might not kick you in the head!"  
  
"Aiee! Please no kill me---I no steal from so-very-nice company, but new cookies are too good to let spoil or throw away so I eat. Is okay?" The fellow quivers in fright, his eyes glued to Trowa's spreading grimace.  
  
//New cookie? That means the chips are probably in the---// Urgently, he calls Heero. "You've got to get to the storage block and seize __all__ the boxes marked 'chocolate chip.' The technology is in the confection. 'Hidden in plain sight'... only an idiot would fail to make the connection and we were fools not to see it!"  
  
Dislodging his goggles, he sinks into an armchair.  
  
"I may go clean, yes?"  
  
He waves at the janitor in an air of distraction, listening to the radio signal playing through his earpiece.  
  
"Pierrot, standby. Receiving message from DH." Heero must have dialled in the squad frequency in preparation for a coordinated recall for Trowa hears orders that are clearly directed to Duo.  
  
"DH, do not go ahead. Do not execute original plan. We are in error. Repeat: Pierrot reports the microchips are concealed as 'chocolate chips.' Over."  
  
A short pause indicates a response before Heero's voice returns. "Again, do not proceed with the plans. Convene at rendezvous point. Dragon and Wing will remove cargo. Over."  
  
Coming on the heels of the order, nearly overtaking it, the winds of destruction rip through the connected buildings.  
  
  
  
//Nothing. Fields and fields of pale nothing as far as the eye can see. Wait a minute---maybe I've inexplicably gone blind from the explosion.// Panicking, Duo blinks then rubs at his closed eyes. He moves with deliberation, rising from his prone position hesitantly with hands out to feel for obstacles. //Don't they always describe blindness as a black void? I can't have lost my vision! I'm too pretty to never see again!!//  
  
Wallowing in sudden self-pity, he doesn't notice someone approach. A reedy, unpleasant voice comes steadily nearer, dropping periodically in an attempt to accompany itself in song. Occasional humming fills in forgotten lyrics.  
  
"....been for a walk on a winter's day (on a winter's day) / I'd be safe and warm if I was in L.A. (if I was in L.A.)"  
  
A young woman by the sound of her, she calls out once before resuming the tune. "Is there a 'Duo Maxwell' in here somewhere? I've been sent to find a 'Duo Maxwell.' I stopped into a church I passed along the way / I got down on my knees and I pretend to pray..."  
  
Torn between his soldier's suspicion and a rising need to confirm his existence through an outside source, he turns to the noise and yells back. "At this point, I don't care who you are or what you want---just stop that caterwauling and come help me!"  
  
"Everyone's a critic. No respect at all for the effort I put into training. Talent only gets you so far, sonny Jim." The grousing fades off.  
  
Duo abandons all pretence of dignity. "Don't leave me!!!"  
  
"Sheesh," interjects a girl by his elbow. "You're such a baby. Okay, so I nearly didn't find you at all. Would have been a tragedy. Still, I haven't lost one to the Void yet." She ticks off an item on a clipboard, hangs it from a loop one side of a gem-studded sheath, and grabs him by the arm. Duo lets himself be pulled several yards before asserting some measure of control over his course.  
  
"Pardon me, but just where the hell did you come from? One second there's this rush of white foam, then not only am I standing on this great plane of bupkis, but some chick heavily into plate mail and pointy swords pops up and starts dragging me around. I'm starting to feel a little confused."  
  
"Really? This sort of thing happens to me all the time. I'm Vel- Hilde Lowensdotter, by the way, and I don't appreciate that sexist comment."  
  
With a wiry strength, she continues to lead him to a distant dark point---the only thing with definite colour besides his companion in the milky landscape. "We valkyries have fought hard against pig-headed prejudices and I don't intend to let some kid like you slander a noble organization. Get in." She releases him and climbs onto an intimidating black and silver motorbike with coordinating sidecar. It is the uncertain shadow that was on the horizon.  
  
"Come on. I don't have all day, you know. There's more to the job than just collecting warriors now that we've been updated for the new millennium. Seems like most of my passengers are ordinary oiks who've seen the business-end of a halibut. That's why I don't do opera anymore; hardly a soul knows what's going on in even the popular arias. Sad times, these."  
  
Duo simply gives up on prying anything sensible out of her and submits to settling himself in the sidecar. A journey with a lunatic was only marginally better than staying in the vastness all alone. "Got a helmet for me? Safety first," he asks after she straps one on over her short-cropped hair.  
  
"Nah. You don't need one---you're dead after all."  
  
  
  
Back at Preventer headquarters, Lady Une paces from window to staff table and back in a too-familiar groove. She drops her hands from her temples to rest them lightly on the sill before addressing the assembled agents.  
  
"So what you're telling me is that in one night we lost an operative crucial to future successes and, most importantly, the cookies that were rescued were summarily destroyed because you thought they concealed __microchips__?"  
  
Noin smothers a chuckle, noting not only the discomfort of the former Gundam pilots, but also a throbbing vein on her superior's neck.  
  
Wufei, who lacks the observational skills necessary to be a "people person," mutters an excuse. "We think Maxwell did himself in. Yuy was head of the operation from the moment he received the coded mission statement."  
  
"Coded? Nonsense. How could he have misunderstood the directive? I needed you to obtain cookies for the bake sale young Mariemaia's school is having next week. I do not bake myself," Une declaims in a tone full of revulsion at the very idea she would sully her hands with such a menial task when Kushrenada's legacy remained unfulfilled. "Ever mindful of my duty to Mr. Treize's memory and aware of my continued responsibilities as Third-grade Homeroom Mother, I must set an example for the sale. In failing this request, you have disappointed me and the poor little children who were counting on those proceeds to expand their pony stables." Although she had remained emotionless in posture and voice throughout, a solitary tear trickles free at the thought of her own beloved friend from yesteryear. "Buttercup," she sighs.  
  
"None of this explains why you called Zechs and me in, Lady," Noin interrupts. "If Heero made the mistake, shouldn't he have to correct it? By the way, where is he?"  
  
Quatre discreetly clears his throat to call their attention. "It may come as a surprise to you, Miss Noin, but Heero was deeply attached to Duo. Trowa, Wufei and I have decided it best that he deal with this loss in his own way. We took into account the unusual circumstances and allowed him to dispose of the body as he saw fit."  
  
"Don't tell me he's gone off and held the funeral by himself?"  
  
"No, Miss. Unfortunately, the remains were encased in liquid marshmallow at the time of death. Within minutes---long before any of us could reach him---this layer hardened and is currently acting as a method of preservation. At least, that's what we can tell without core samples.  
  
"Given Heero's unwillingness to part with the... item and the fact that it is unwieldy to transport in a befitting manner, I'm certain you can see why it is taking so long for him to arrive."  
  
The morose moment of reflection has barely begun before Noin's last bit of composure crumbles into a series of belly laughs. She wipes traces of moisture from her face amidst howls. "Sorry, but that's so implausible. Sorry," she gasps.  
  
Unbending, Une shows her displeasure at both those in attendance and absent. "I am appalled by the inconsistent support one of our own members has been given by his peers now that the matter has been laid bare. Nonetheless, it appears Heero Yuy has not realized the full capabilities of his backseat yet in regard to bulk material conveyance."  
  
A rather bedraggled Heero is ushered into the room, an odd, amorphous statue in tow.  
  
"Or maybe he has."  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, Duo is still coming to grips with his abruptly ended mortality. "You are totally wrong. I am so not dead; I'm talking, breathing, walking around, able to respond to stimuli... dead people tend to lay there unless prodded."  
  
"It's habit," Vel-Hilde patiently observes. "You're used to doing that stuff and the reality of it all is that you don't have the appropriate equipment right here and now."  
  
"I feel real enough." He surreptitiously fingers his clothes, pressing down to make contact with the flesh beneath. //It's funny though... it's faded and washed out like even my skin was put through the spin cycle one too many times.//  
  
"Oh, thank God we're here. I've never had such a long delivery." Shutting off the bike's engine (which had strangely enough made little noise during the uneventful journey), she stows her helmet behind the seat.  
  
"What? We left... where-ever that was about two minutes ago!"  
  
"When you're dealing with Eternity, a trip of light-years is instantaneous. Now come here with me so I can get credit for this run." She springs from the vehicle and marches to a previously unnoticed tollbooth a short distance away.  
  
//Oh, my brain hurts from all these unexpected twists. Assuming I've got a physical brain capable of experiencing pain. Ow.//  
  
Duo reaches the booth after the round-faced attendant stamps the last of Vel-Hilde's papers. She prints out a receipt and gives a copy to the slight valkyrie. "All properly recorded. Shipment received as per contracted. Thank you kindly."  
  
Vel-Hilde sticks the carbon in her clipboard with a smile and a curt nod. "Pleasure dealing with such a professional," she replies. She turns to Duo, checking that he hasn't wandered off.  
  
"You'd better go in." She hooks a thumb over one shoulder. "It's kind of boring out here and they'll be wanting to figure out where you belong. Well, I've got to go."  
  
"What? Where... how in the---damn it! I thought everything was simple once you died. There's not supposed to be paperwork, punch-clocks and schedules. That's what life's all about!" Duo gently collapses, folding in on himself and mumbling "curiouser and curiouser."  
  
"Clara, be a dear and help me shift him. I think it's been too much of a shock. Poor thing... he hasn't even seen how long the lines are for Purgatory."  
  
  
  
"How very good of you to join us, Mr. Yuy. Please be seated and I'll hand out the upcoming assignments." Une's proclamation is met by groans on all sides.  
  
"I know some of you may feel this is unfair and too demanding given the current personal strain you are undoubtedly all undergoing with this latest crisis. However, there are a number of issues that need to be resolved immediately.  
  
"Miss Noin and Mr. Winner, a small matter of an herb requires the delicate touch you've both demonstrated on past occasions. An unrecognised yet noble sub-Saharan government is in sole possession of a reputed organic cure for a virus-borne disease that may cripple civilization if left unchecked. An unforeseen benefit of this herb is the non-addictive promotion of a euphoric state comparable to criminal modern chemical compounds. You are to negotiate on behalf of the Preventer Corps for the exclusive use of these plants outside of their native lands and obtain samples for preliminary scientific trials."  
  
Nodding to his partner, Quatre assures, "No problem, Lady. Are there any other details? Perhaps dossiers on the key players or relevant background information uncovered by field operatives?"  
  
"It's really a very simple affair. I leave it in your capable hands." She dismisses their continued presence and bears down upon Trowa. "Mr. Barton. Mr. Chang. It is vital that you follow my directives to the letter." She fixes them to their seats with a steely gaze. "Let me impress upon you the sheer chaos which will occur should you disregard for the merest moment the true weight of this task."  
  
A thick sense of trepidation hangs in the air till Une lays out salient points. "0800 tomorrow you will encounter a local chapter of Junior Achievers convening for breakfast at McSwirly's on 7th Avenue. Present yourselves and the appropriate credentials to the group leader, a Mrs. Jorgensen. Rather than the instructional video on bee-keeping which she believes the children will watch at the Agricultural Extension office, you will convince her of the following activity's merits: a course in character-building through the application of life skills vis-à-vis preparation of foodstuffs.  
  
"You shall then accompany the children to the aforementioned office where the proper facilities are even now being arranged. Over the course of six hours, you must produce no fewer than three gross of brownies, cookies, cupcakes, tarts, tortes or a combination thereof. Failure is not permissible." She opens a file folder and hands across a packet, ostensibly containing the necessary falsified documents.  
  
Noin pops out of her chair in rage. "You're saying some cockamamie ploy to pamper spoiled princesses has more inherent worth than the possible salvation of life as we know it? How long have you had this in the works? You are utterly insane!"  
  
Pointedly ignoring the diatribe, Lady Une addresses the last two employees in a practiced, beguilingly low accent. "Only you can see it through---will you take this report down to Sally Po and have a chat with one of her friends?"  
  
Zechs rises to attention. "But of course, Lady." He motions for Heero to follow him. "Come along, boy, and bring the puffball if you must."  
  
  
  
When Duo comes to from an unmanly swoon, he is faced with the most difficult decision one must make concerning the afterlife. Lying on a settee, he peers up at a smiling feminine figure.  
  
"I'm Saint Polly and I'll be your Holy Hostess for your stay in the Celestial Palace's Reposing Room," she chirrups. "Coffee? Tea? Cheese?" She proffers a silver service. "I can also furnish you with a fruit medley, an assortment of biscuits, or a tempting sherbet."  
  
Groggily, he waves them away. "All I want are a few answers. I demand to see the manager," he asserts, swinging his feet down and wobbling upright. "I've got some major bitching to do and I'm not going to be pawned off on some complaints department flunky."  
  
The saint chuckles nervously. Looking about to see if anyone was disturbed by the course language, she takes him aside. "I'm afraid that's against procedures. When you've recovered sufficiently to give an account of your life, I'm to send you straight to Processing."  
  
"Nothing doing, sister. It's not my time to be here; somebody majorly fucked up and I'll know who __and__ I'll put his ass in a sling for it." Being dead was a new and worrying scenario for the street-rat, but he is on familiar ground now.  
  
A handful of robed aides and their charges glance in their corner as they overhear Duo's raised voice. "Please be quiet and I'll do what I can, all right?" Polly says through clenched teeth.  
  
He grumbles but decides to play the few cards he's confident work anywhere. "Sure. You only had to ask nicely. Now, I want to be perfectly clear on a few points: I'm stone-cold dead?"  
  
She reluctantly confirms this. "We prefer to say 'spiritually liberated'."  
  
"Spade's a spade. So what's this place---Heaven, Hell, Limbo, Hades, Nirvana, Paradise, Nowhere and Everywhere?"  
  
"Oh, yes," she says simply.  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"All of them... and none, to be exact."  
  
"Can you at least tell me if there's even a God?" An emphatic nod. "This entity sometimes drops by?"  
  
"There is an audience chamber where we are blessed with visitations as the Spirit moves."  
  
"Must be nice to get an opportunity to talk with the Supreme Creator, yeah?" //Easy, Maxwell... almost got her.//  
  
"Indeed," Saint Polly rapturously burbles. "No matter how many supplicants throng the chamber, God always has a kind word regarding my work here; though you'd hardly believe someone so important and dreadfully busy would deign to pay the slightest bit of attention to me. It's that personal touch that keeps us so near to the Heart of Mercy, as if God were here looking over my shoulder in loving kindness instead of way off in the highest tower."  
  
An expression of hazy bliss steals over her as she speaks, giving Duo a bit of a reactionary edge when he bolts away. //Those people are all the same when yapping about some "personal revelation" or "communion." At least I've got an idea where to look.//  
  
  
  
"The next time someone asks you to be their concubine in exchange for priceless herbs, __accept__!" //Mother was right,// Lucrezia Noin reflects, sliding through a tangle of vines. //I should never have opted for career military.//  
  
Sounds of pursuit have lessened with each gasped breath, every faltering step.  
  
"I don't want to be a porcupine," Quatre giggles. "Gotta be all snuggly soft for my fuzzy Tro-bear." Noin bites back an angry correction.  
  
//True, the kid is cute sometimes, but what a way to ruin a conference. If the flowered herbs in that ceremonial wreath they gave him had worked faster, I'd be signing that deal now instead of toting an inebriated pigmy through hostile territory like a sack of potatoes.//  
  
She wrenches an ankle, stumbling in a hidden hollow, and has to stop for a minute's rest. Sprawled on the damp ground beside her, Quatre grins weakly. "Luci, did I ever tell you what a magnificent tushie you've got?" Paroxysms of laughter leave him panting for air.  
  
"What is it about this goddamn flower that makes everyone so bloody happy? Is it the crack flower?!!? Would you just shut up!" she screeches. Glowering, she yanks the wilting band from his flushed brow and inhales deeply, trying to relieve the growing pain with a heady whiff of intoxicating pollen.  
  
  
  
"Excuse me, but have you seen a boy in a dress run through here recently?" Polly is at her wit's end, shelving her self-respect in a desperate bid to stop Duo before he wreaks more havoc in the Celestial Palace. Sidling up to one of the hooded Handmaidens of Fate in the Hall of Destiny, she isn't certain whether a positive or negative response is more desirable.  
  
//I can't believe he mugged an Agony Aunt of her robes. It's smart to try and blend in, but the poor dear's going to need a long lie down to recover from the ordeal... although she did seem a tad too wistful describing him switching out the clothes. 'Sinewy', 'firm', and 'ripe' are words I didn't think those ladies knew, much less applied to the human body.//  
  
A knot of three women closest to the door looks up when Polly stutters the question again. The eldest one by appearance purses her lips before saying, "Thin chap? A little under tall and malnourished but strikingly handsome in a winsome way? Babbling on about needing to get to the High Tower?"  
  
Reluctantly, Polly nods.  
  
"Couldn't help you there, sweetie." They turn their attention back to a silvered bowl filled with light. Images of a person's life flicker and spin as the three prod, comment on, and influence the events. Throughout the wide, low room, other small clusters gathered around similar bowls mimic their actions. Above the continual background murmurs, Saint Polly overhears snatches and snippets from nearby observers.  
  
"Didn't I tell you, Evelyn? Castration is fun."  
  
"Poor blighter. Do you reckon he'll be okay?"  
  
"Right as rain, ducks. Just wait."  
  
"Good. Wouldn't want him to suffer."  
  
"Honestly, you two talk like they grow back!"  
  
"You mean they don't?"  
  
Across the way comes a shriek. "Ew, Candace---would you just look at the fools!"  
  
"They're out in the rain? Their balls are going to shrink to the size of raisins!"  
  
"Shouldn't they know better than to play golf with those vegetable- based polymeric balls? 'No smarter than a bunch of monkeys,' I always say, Candace."  
  
A bit closer---"Look at the pretty light!"  
  
"They're still burning people at the stake? How passé..."  
  
Polly scrunches her forehead in general confusion and respectfully touches the first Handmaiden's shoulder. "But... how can you say you haven't seen him when you know what he looks like---Duo!"  
  
"Damn," he mutters. "Well, now you've found me and we've had a bit of a laugh---ow... don't pull the hair---a good bonding experience between two friends---the ear is not good either. Ouch!"  
  
She forces him into a corridor, backs him to the wall and keeps him in place with a fierce combination of finger wagging and vitriolic words. "Never in my centuries of service! You must be the most thoughtless, misbehaved, law-breaking wretch to __ever__ enter the Celestial Palace! And let me tell you---Genghis Kahn was a doll compared to you," she roars. "What you did in the main fountain alone is inexcusable! Just wait till my Superior hears about this; count yourself lucky if they banish you to the Void."  
  
Duo frightfully contemplates an eternity of that white vastness when the first masculine voice besides his own breaks into Polly's rant.  
  
"You have mail."  
  
"Drat." She fishes a tiny data pad and stylus from the depths of a robe pocket. "This had better not be spam."  
  
Duo watches in bemused amazement as she taps the pen on the screen. A rotating blue triangle opens into a text message. "You get e-mail? Hey, I use that company. Well, I did when I was, you know, alive."  
  
She snorts in as genteel a fashion as possible. "Of course. Where do you think I get my e-mail? GOD? There's omnipotence---" She points around them with an open hand. "And then there's __omnipotence__." Polly angles the screen toward him.  
  
Skimming the message's contents, she explains, "Oh, ho! Your comeuppance is nigh, odious sinner. You are to appear before a Tribunal of Reckoning." Reading on, she lets loose a squeak of terror. "Their Majesty will be there... __and__ I must account for your behaviour since you were brought to my recovery room. Dear me."  
  
"I won't lack for company in the Void, eh? At least I get to chat with God. If you'd only said 'yes' before..." Duo leaves the comment hanging in the air between them.  
  
  
  
"Need I remind you? Do __not__ eat raw eggs. Eugenia, put that oregano down." Trowa whisks a knife out of one child's hands while keeping an eye on the other twenty-nine. //They're worse than a pack of animals. I never had to keep the lions from killing each other---just me.//  
  
"If no-one has any more life-threatening situations to deal with, I think we should move on. First, you must blend the dry---"  
  
"Mr. Wufei's helping the grapes have sex!"  
  
"Am not. And it's Mr.__Chang__."  
  
"Are too."  
  
"Am not!"  
  
Trowa takes an extraordinarily deep breath and slowly releases it. "The grapes don't have sex, Justin. Mr. Chang is merely... what __are__ you doing?"  
  
Wufei brandishes his paring knife. "I'm peeling them for use on my tart as decoration. Presentation is an important yet often overlooked skill."  
  
Trowa can feel another nervous breakdown thundering toward him. "Yes. He has a valid point, children. While your treats are baking, I believe a demonstration in basic table setting may be in order." He grins sickly, realizing butter knives could be dangerous in those tiny hands.  
  
"Back to our... Eugenia. Please take a look at the recipe I assigned you. There is no oregano on the ingredient list, but I see you've measured out a large quantity of it. I've never heard of oregano brownies. There is no such thing as an oregano-flavoured brownie!"  
  
Large blue eyes watering in trepidation, she looks up at the gently vibrating teenager. "There could be."  
  
"This universe, as I interpret it," he patiently says, "has no room for such absurd foods." //Enough with the oregano, you're obsessed with the oregano. She doesn't understand she's playing with fire... nobody else knows about that incident. Not even Cathy and it was her fault.// He feels a bit of control returning. //I'll be fine. We'll get this done and I can go home where there is __no__ oregano to hurt me.//  
  
"You're quashing my creativity beneath the tyrannical boot heels of ignorance and conformity, Mr. Barton. Sir."  
  
  
  
"Respect. Keep that in mind and it might not go so badly. Maybe. Little words like 'Your Grace', 'Ineffable Majesty', 'Oh Magnificent One' or 'Most Infallibly Merciful God' are always appreciated. Remain humble and reverent at all times. For pity's sake! Take off that robe---wait; knowing you, there's nothing underneath. Keep it on, but try to smarten up a bit." Saint Polly smoothes her robes one last time, fidgeting out of utter, mouth-desiccating horror at the impending sentence. She lays a hand on the enormous doors to the audience chamber and it swings open.  
  
Shoes clicking on the marble floor, she marches straight-backed into the silent room. Duo follows a bit slower, obviously searching the crowd of assembled saints for a sympathetic face. Polly falls into a deep bow when he reaches her side. "My Lady," she intones, addressing the solitary seated figure, ensconced in a golden throne and rising head and shoulders above the lounging masses.  
  
"Hiya, Mary," Duo winks. "Great place you have here. So, when is the Lord going to arrive?"  
  
"She __is__ here," Polly hisses unobtrusively. Duo's confusion only increases. "She is God."  
  
"No way," he rebukes. "God is most definitely a 'he'---'our Father' and all. He does not have breasts. Bazooms. Melons. Jugs. Tits." He trails off, fixated on the clearly female entity.  
  
"She's God," Polly assures him. "With tits, as you so crudely put it."  
  
"This is not mentioned in the Bible. I understand a stray speck of fly poop changing one word into another, but that's a lot of poop in a ton of places."  
  
"Many things were incorrectly set down or omitted. Now shush."  
  
"Hold on. What kind of things?"  
  
"This is not the time!"  
  
"You're telling me this can get worse?"  
  
"All right. You have twenty commandments, not ten."  
  
Duo pulls an incredulous look.  
  
"Seriously. 'The 11th Commandment doth decree "Thou shall not flicketh offth thy Lord in vain." was cut from the King James Version."  
  
"Speak your mind, child of my bosom," the Creator beckons.  
  
"And what a bosom it is, Lord... um, Lady." Duo hitches on his most winning smile. "Sorry to disturb you, but I sort of need a favour."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
He scuffs the toe of his shoe and rubs the back of his neck absently. "You see, I was called here before my time was up. There are still an awful lot of things on my 'To Do' list, if you catch my drift. I was looking forward to one thing in particular."  
  
A small tome bearing the title "Duo Maxwell: Gutter-Snipe or Fallen Angel?" is brought to Her Grace. "Ah, you refer to the fact you were transported in a state of sexual inexperience. You are a virgin." Duo blanches. He's not sure if Polly snickered, but he suspects she did.  
  
"I regret you feel this unfair, my child, but each one has their allotted time. There is nothing more for you in the mortal realm now."  
  
"That's it?" His jaw drops and a whimper escapes. "I haven't begun to live yet and it's over? You've got to give me another chance---some more time. A day? An hour? Fifteen minutes can't be too much to ask. There's someone I've got to say goodbye to. Someone who means the world to me."  
  
Moved by his pitiful plight, Saint Polly beseeches, "Is there no precedent for what he asks? Please, Lady, give him a task---a quest---to test his worthiness and grant renewed life. Do people not rage against Destiny each day? Do they not thwart Death with each breath they draw?"  
  
She locks eyes with Duo, stretching out a hand to cradle his cheek. The warmth of her smile is undeniable. "Allow him the opportunity to wage this war one final time. In the name of Justice. For the cause of true love."  
  
Her sincerity shining through, Polly drops her hand. Duo clasps it in his and raises it to his lips for a chaste kiss. "Thank you," he whispers. "Thank you for trying... for understanding."  
  
"Hey, I'm just trying to save my own hash," she whispers, colouring slightly. "If you go down, I'll not be long." Her words are betrayed by the slight squeeze she gives his hand.  
  
The sound of applause amid a crystalline tinkling floats down to them. Upon her throne of Judgement, God claps for joy and laughs. "It seems I shall have to stage a challenge. Very well. You have your choice of opponents, young Duo, as your counsel has noted. You may either grapple with Death or duel Destiny in return for rejoining your beloved."  
  
"However," she continues gravely, "there is forever a correlation between action and consequence. Should you regrettably fail, a punishment comparable to the reward in both nature and personal importance shall be exacted. Reflect upon this before you issue the challenge."  
  
Whipped up by Polly's supportive words, Duo stares down God. "The course of love isn't guaranteed to run smooth. No obstacle will stand in my way---just bring 'em on. Shinigami's gonna kick some anthropomorphic personification of an abstract idea's ass."  
  
  
  
" 'Lena is the devil, she makes me spontaneously combust with her eyes."  
  
Sally Po leans back into her chair and ticks another box under the list "neuroses." She flips to a clean sheet in the casebook. "That's a lovely effort, Zechs. Perhaps not adhering to the haiku's form, but fulfilling the exercise's purpose of emotional cleansing. Would you care to venture your opinion, Dr. McGuffin?"  
  
A heavy-set walrus of a man harrumphs noisily. "Indeed. A strong sense of sibling rivalry is evident in this example of artistic expression. We have touched on your conflicting feelings toward your sister before, ja? What was once an overwhelming desire to shield and protect has transmogrified into a healthy blend of affection and resentment. A classic case of late-life interfamilial stabilization."  
  
Sally Po rolls her eyes in disbelief, but keeps her comments to herself. "And Heero, have you written anything? Remember, it's okay if you need some more time; this is supposed to be a fun little experiment. You don't have to share it if you don't want to."  
  
He scratches out a line and scribbles hastily. Shooting a glare at Zechs across the circle of plastic chairs, Heero reads.  
  
"You broke my Duo, / You great big bastard fruitcake. / Die, crazy bitch, die."  
  
"That was liberating," she stammers.  
  
"I am not a fruitcake! I'm an apple pie, damn you---a symbol of all that is wholesome, dependable and right in this time of uncertainty!" Zechs leaps into a dramatic pose. "Only I can unify the colonies and represent their concerns for I __am__ the colonial spirit."  
  
//Not again.// Sally slumps farther away from the princeling. //Can't we have one therapy session that produces a tiny bit of growth?//  
  
Zechs and Heero are facing off in the circle's centre. "You destroyed Duo," Heero snarls. "He __never__ hurt you, but you went ahead and callously shattered him because he was a thing of beauty."  
  
"It was a hollow lump of congealed sugary goo! There was nothing inside beyond your delusions. Besides, it was an accident---I didn't mean to drop it down the stairwell."  
  
"I'll give you delusions!" Heero jumps at Zechs.  
  
Sally makes a final notation in both files, brushing off a ragged clump of long blonde hair that lazily settled on her pants leg after being ripped from its owner's head. She steps over the two combatants rolling on the floor. "Same time next week, boys."  
  
  
  
"Are you absolutely sure you want to do this, Duo?" Saint Polly nibbles one of her fingernails restlessly. "Now that we've gotten out of that one spot of trouble, you don't have to actually fight anyone. It's not binding until you enter the arena."  
  
The tribunal concluded, the two have made their way to yet another part of the Celestial Palace. A sentinel stands by, ready to announce his entrance into the ring.  
  
"It's none of your business," he snaps back irritably. "I'm here by mistake and the only way I can get where I really belong for even a moment is waiting on the other side of that door. I don't care how tough it may be---I've got to try."  
  
Affronted by his ferocity, she numbly watches him pass into the room beyond. "Wait for me," she says, hurrying after. "You'll get creamed without some help."  
  
Tiers of spectator stands, teeming with various citizens of the Palace, soar above a great prepared space. Three people stand level with Duo and Polly: the antechamber's attendant; a grotesque, androgynous shambling biped; and a lank, sinister man.  
  
"Duo Maxwell claims the right of challenge. His foes---Death and Destiny. Choose," the attendant directs.  
  
He miserably eyes his opponents. "So, Polly, just what kind of help can you give me on this? A small-sized miracle would be peachy."  
  
"Sorry. A few words of advice are allowed, though."  
  
"Fabulous. I'm no fan of sumo, but I've heard the smaller guys do well if they keep on their toes. I guess it wouldn't be too bad to go up against Death... I was practically the Grim Reaper anyway, so it hasn't got a psychological edge."  
  
"Um, you might want to rethink that. It hasn't been beaten. Ever. In all recorded time. And the punishment is... let's say 'icky,' all right?"  
  
Duo pauses in the middle of a loosening stretch. "What do you mean? Do I get stuck working with you for Eternity?" he jokes.  
  
She furrows her brow and frowns. "The reason you want to go back... it's mainly about sex, right?" He doesn't protest. "Remember the correlation---if Death wins, you have to give it sex." A stunned silence grows. "The reaction you're looking for is 'Ewwwwww!'"  
  
She pats his shoulder in commiseration. "Don't worry about that. I know Destiny has been cheated a few times, so at least there you've got a better chance. Plus, losing won't be that bad---he is kind of cute."  
  
He grabs his head in frustration. "You've got a crush on him? The only ally I've got and you're telling me to lose!" He shoos her away and says in a loud, clear voice, "I choose Destiny."  
  
Polly shyly joins the doorwoman in the lowest row. Wringing her hands, she watches as the two meet to receive their weapons, duelling swords. Each picks up what appears to be simply a grip and guard. Destiny slices his through the air, light glinting off an invisible edge for a fraction of a second.  
  
"Oh, it's been ages since anyone's had a proper imaginary sword battle," Polly's other neighbour claps. "That boy of yours doesn't stand a peanut's chance in the elephant yard at suppertime."  
  
"I beg to differ," Polly upbraids in a chill voice. "He'll do amazingly as long as he keeps his wits about him."  
  
"He'll need more than smarts to come out of this on top. Seems Destiny's playing with a stacked deck; he has a real imaginary sword. That fella just has air."  
  
"Oh, my," she exclaims, noticing a lack of sparkle above Duo's guard indicative of a blade. Before she can shout a warning, the two square off and salute.  
  
Duo screams out an anguished cry and charges, trying to take the initiative. Destiny casually brings his sword about in a lazy yet powerful stroke. He smirks with the knowledge that this single unwarded blow will send the youth to the arena floor in bloody defeat.  
  
Instead of clumsily slashing in a headlong attack, Duo tosses his useless weapon to one side. Never slowing, he pivots on his right foot and dances away. Destiny gives chase, aiming his increasingly wide strikes at the retreating boy yet not managing to so much as graze him.  
  
Unexpectedly, Duo reverses at the high point of Destiny's upswing and barrels in. Polly, unaccustomed to witnessing the more brutal aspects of human life, quickly averts her eyes. Judging by the audience's sympathetic groans and rousing cheers, she suspects that never before has Destiny had to tangle with a full-fledged eye-gouging, head-butting, nose-biting, groin- kneeing style of street combat.  
  
"Well, I guess there's a moral after all: it just goes to show you that every ape has his turd bucket." She takes her neighbour's comment as an encouraging sign, but timidly looks up when a riotous cry swells from every throat in the arena.  
  
Swaying slightly, bleeding from a few scrapes and breathing heavily, Duo stands triumphant over the twitching form of his adversary. His infectious grin breaks into a wide smile as he spots Polly running from her seat in the crowds. She wraps him in a hug and he swings her about. Laughing, they break apart.  
  
"Never in a million years did I think you could have pulled it off," she crows in delight.  
  
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, babe." He playfully punches her on the arm. She opens her mouth for another barb, but everything is overridden by a flooding light and the boom of God's voice.  
  
~~Your quest is fulfilled. Live once more, my child.~~  
  
  
  
"... then Andre---you recall he's that contortionist who joined up about five months ago---anyway, he was showing off his newest conquest at Amelia's birthday party when things got a little out of hand. His own guy got on his case for having overactive hands---said 'No more PDA... you're scaring the straights.' Truth be told, I've always thought he needed to be taken down a few pegs and I wouldn't mind doing it.  
  
"However, the evening ended without any further major incidences and then there was random lesbian sex."  
  
"Uh-huh." Trowa mumbles, a glazed look on his face as he listens to the one-sided telephone conversation.  
  
"Trowa Barton! How dare you feign interest when I'm telling you something important? If you're not going to pay attention, I'll stop taking your calls. I've got other things to do."  
  
"And other people, dear sibling," he chimes in, soothing her ruffled feelings with the uncharacteristic quip.  
  
"I only said that lesbian bit to see if the connection hadn't broken. Sometimes you're so... shut off. It's the same as talking to a wall."  
  
He's unthinkingly hit a sensitive nerve in the unorthodox relationship. Trowa frantically back-pedals to salvage the comradely atmosphere in which the call had started. "Sorry about that, sis. I've been preoccupied with work this past week and then there was that injury." He winces and shifts his leg on the mound of pillows propping it up. "Who knew a cookie sheet could be used in so many excruciating ways."  
  
Catherine makes a motherly clucking noise. "If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times: when it comes to anything domestic---"  
  
"'Trowa, you're only good for your height and carrying things.'" They finish in unison and share a chuckle at the well-worn phrase.  
  
"Seriously, Trowa, you need to take better care of yourself. Don't put too much of a strain on that leg or you'll do yourself a mischief."  
  
He levers himself out of the upholstered armchair. Cautiously crossing to the telephone terminal, he activates the visual link. "Don't worry. You can see I'm fine... nearly able to get around without any assistance. I should be able to stop using the stick next month according to the surgeon. I've got three weeks of vacation and med-leave---how about I come visit you?"  
  
"Travelling doesn't sound good," she muses. "But if it's the only way to make sure my little brother doesn't end up killing himself carrying laundry up those narrow stairs... I'll clean out your room tonight!" Her enthusiastic smile fades. "You haven't been doing that, have you?"  
  
"Of course not---just ironing a few things, I swear. It only takes one hand. Plus, I've got great balance and can take those stairs easily blind, crippled and drunk." Putting his weight on his uninjured foot, Trowa steadies the cane's centre of gravity on one extended fingertip. Amid her protestations, he carefully plants the other palm on the floor and raises his body in a one-armed handstand. A shiver of pain breaks his concentration. He falls out of the camera's range, cane clattering loudly enough to rouse questions of concern from the adjoining kitchen.  
  
"I'm okay, guys. Nothing wrong---I'm playing with my stick!" he yells out. //Must be getting soft in my old age.// Guffaws and Wufei's shouted "You're a sick man, Barton---doing that while you're talking to a woman. Disgusting," floats over to him.  
  
"MY WALKING STICK, YOU PERVS!" Ignoring the subsequent catcalls, he switches off the visual mode and settles in his armchair with the remote unit. "Sorry, Cathy. I can't stand feeling so useless and weak."  
  
"Until I get a jar snaffler, stilts and an anti-grav sled, I'll always have a need for you," she coos. "You'll still be able to come here, right? I don't trust you on your own."  
  
"I'll catch the first flight out, promise. You don't mind if I bring a friend along, do you? Quatre won't let me out of the house without him and he's got time off too. Something about a severe reaction to some flower... he's been acting strangely lately and could do with some mothering."  
  
"He's not the one who plundered my underwear drawer and tried on my camisole?"  
  
"No, that's Wufei. Quatre's the blonde you terrified a couple of years ago. He still cringes and whimpers when I mention your name. Try to be civil to him, sis. He's a wonderful person and I care about him a good deal."  
  
She agrees to the visit's terms and rings off. Trowa pulls a blanket up to his chin in preparation for a short nap. He begins to nod when the front door slams open. An unmistakable figure bounces in.  
  
"Duo! You're alive?!?"  
  
"Yeah, big surprise. Heero around?" The resurrected brunette sloughs off his shoes and starts to unbutton his overshirt. "I don't have much time, Trowa."  
  
"Um... he ought to be back soon. Another meeting with Sally Po... why do you have ink on your hand?"  
  
"Damn," he mutters, rubbing the stamp from the back of his hand. "Don't they know I don't want to get back in? I'm staying this go 'round." He rummages beside the telephone for a pad and pen. Duo jots a note and tapes it to the door at eye level. "Make sure he sees that, right?" He bounds to the second-floor bedrooms, shedding clothes along the way.  
  
Trowa barely has a moment to catch his breath from the whirlwind entrance before Heero saunters in. He spots the note, stops by the kitchen for a bottle of chocolate sauce and trots up the stairs with a cheerful "Ninmu ryoukai."  
  
His curiosity getting the better of him, Trowa hobbles to the door. As he reads aloud, his bewilderment only grows. "'I have 24 hours to live and get laid. Come here and ravish me, you wild monkey. I'm upstairs, wearing just a smile.'"  
  
  
  
"Sweet... in a weird sort of way." Saint Polly thanks the Handmaidens for allowing her a glimpse at Duo's return. "Pity it only lasts a day." She glumly heads to her station, her steps heavy.  
  
"Do not be certain, little one."  
  
"My Lady!" she exclaims, dipping into a sketchy curtsy.  
  
"Be at peace. Fear not for his prompt return---You shall be spared that tribulation for some years yet."  
  
"But isn't the boon you granted a temporary one?"  
  
"All times are as one to the Eternal. I am Merciful. I am Love. I am all that is, was and shall be. My Word is a law unto itself. They shall be parted in the fullness of time---no creation can decree otherwise. I did not declare the limit of his reprieve for is it not said none save I shall know the counting of his days?"  
  
Polly beams in comprehension. "My Lady, you are Glorious in my eyes and most deserving of praise." She genuflects, rising after God has left. A song in her heart, a spring in her step and a load off her mind, she rejoins her fellow workers in the Reposing Room.  
  
  
  
~~~Owari  
  
(give yourself an oregano brownie if you've gotten this far ^_~) 


End file.
